


On the Way to Nowhere

by Newtdew25



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Camp Camp References, Child Abandonment, Flashbacks, Guthrie the Guitar, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mean Girls References, Minor Character Death, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Song Lyrics, Tattoos, Two Rarepairs, Waitress References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtdew25/pseuds/Newtdew25
Summary: As night falls, Crutchie, Mush, Finch, and Albert pull over to a motel. When Finch and Albert end up sharing a bed, feelings, flashbacks, and emotional confessions ensue.





	On the Way to Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> So the characters presented here are a meld of the actors who portrayed them. I envisioned Andrew Keenan-Bolger as Crutchie, Aaron Lohr as Mush, Sky Flaherty as Albert (while using Garett Hawe as the inspiration for his glasses), and Aaron J. Albano as Finch (with Iain Young's guitar covers factoring in for his musical background).
> 
> I'd like to thank @raceandalberttakeovertheworld on Tumblr for the pairing of Mush and Crutchie, and you can find them at https://raceandalberttakeovertheworld.tumblr.com/
> 
> Since this is unbeta'd, any and all mistakes are my own. I also do not own any characters here except for Guthrie the guitar, Sweeney Toad the frog, Rodrigo and Lillian Cortes, and Tita Sophia.

Even though he hadn’t gone since he was 15, years of attending Camp Campbell had taught Albert a wide array of interesting, if not always useful, skills. First aid camp, of course, was helpful when he was friends with the likes of Race and Romeo, neither of whom could avoid getting into fights or tripping over their own feet. Search and rescue camp actually came in handy when Sweeney Toad, Specs’ beloved frog, managed to escape his terrarium. Most surprising of all, chess camp gave him the know how to come out victorious over David, bringing his overall record to 1-279.

            Yet there was no camp on how to deal with sharing a bed with your half-naked best friend whom you were crushing on.

_“Maybe they covered that the week I was sick.”_

Albert knew that he should have been thankful that he didn’t have to sleep in the same room as Mush and Crutchie again. Not only were they notoriously loud snorers, Albert learned that they were extremely handsy when it came to spooning. When he complained about it the next morning, it only encouraged Crutchie to squeeze what Albert hoped was only Mush’s thigh. The quiet gasp it elicited gave him the answer he wasn’t hoping for, but was expecting nonetheless.

So to allow the two lovebirds their privacy (and his own peace of mind and relative innocence), Albert offered the idea of staying in a separate room with Finch. Given their budgetary situation, they could only afford to get two single rooms, each with one bed. “Think of it as a sleepover,” Finch pointed out as they got their keys. “Just like old times! Well, except that my aunt isn’t downstairs, drinking wine and watching reruns of Golden Girls.”

 _“Except in the old times, I didn’t want you to hold me, your breathing soft and quiet against my neck.”_ Albert grimaced as he thought about the many times he’d woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, an uncomfortable stiffness in his boxers and Finch’s name on his lips. During the days, his skin would burn in the most exciting way whenever it rubbed against Finch’s. Like most of their friends, Finch was naturally tactile and affectionate, so between platonic touches and the sun’s rays, Albert’s skin was in a constant state of fire and heat, even during the dreary winters. This road trip was no exception, especially when they were sitting together in the back of Mush’s pickup truck with snacks and Guthrie the guitar at their feet.

He sat up on his side of the bed and fumbled for his glasses beside him. In the dim light coming from the motel sign outside, Albert could see the gentle rising and falling of Finch’s chest, the rhythm nice and regular. Before they’d settled for the night, Finch insisted that Albert use the hotel sheets and that he would just bundle up in his grey hoodie. It must have gotten warmer during the night because that same hoodie was now tossed onto the floor, leaving Finch bare from the waist up, his scars and freckles exposed to the private and intimate world that was a motel room in the middle of nowhere.

            There was nothing noteworthy about Finch’s ~~well defined~~ left arm, but after their senior year of high school, he had gotten a colourful sleeve tattoo of a stained glass window on his ~~equally muscular~~ right. That very arm was lying across his chest in a way that only about half of it was visible, but the design still captured Albert’s attention nonetheless. He’d driven Finch to and from each session and sat in the studio, watching as the lines and colour slowly came to be on his tan skin. After each appointment, he’d taken it upon himself to properly clean Finch’s skin with the materials he’d bought after doing his research online. The thought of needles piercing his skin over and over made him feel nauseous, but Albert wanted to support Finch in any way he could.

            It definitely didn’t hurt that he got to spend more time alone with him.

            Albert mentally slapped himself for leering at Finch’s body like a voyeur, a creep. His friend deserved someone who would appreciate him for everything that he was; a soulful musician, an expert birdwatcher, a scarily accurate kickboxer, a guy that loved his aunt more than anyone or anything else in the world. Finch had the right to a partner or even partners who would listen to his covers, make him coffee the way he liked it (a teaspoon of honey and a dash of milk), and literally hold him up so he could get a closer look at the birds he so adores. Patrick “Finch” Cortes was so much more than a pretty face or toned body. He was the universe and all its stars and galaxies.

            “Al, is everything alright?”

            The husky, sleep-laced crooning of Finch’s voice brought Albert back to reality. In his thinking and pining, he’d grabbed the bedsheets so tightly that he’d made a small tear along the seams.

“Yeah, just had a bad dream,” Albert replied, turning away so he could blink away his tears. “I’m just gonna get some air.” Without looking back or waiting for Finch’s response, he grabbed his own green hoodie from the armchair in the corner and went outside into the brisk night air.

///

Loneliness was a familiar feeling for Finch, but the pain of being abandoned never became easier to bear. He remembered being left alone at daycare for hours longer than the other children before his parents finally came, irked and exasperated by his stories about what he did that day. There was his elementary school graduation when he gave a valedictory speech to an audience that was filled with everyone but his own family. Even his summers at Camp Campbell where he met some of his greatest friends were tainted by the knowledge that he was only there because his parents didn’t want him around.

It all came to a head when the summer after the ninth grade ended when his Tita Sophia from the Philippines picked him up from the camp. Although he couldn’t bring himself to ask any questions, the truth was practically shoved in his face when he picked up the morning paper.

“Couple killed in car crash, posthumous charges of theft laid after investigation.”

Even though Rodrigo and Lillian Cortes were hardly around for his childhood, sobs still overtook Finch’s body as his Tita carried him inside, holding him close to her despite him being a foot taller. The years and years of loneliness only really set in when it was certain that his parents would never return for him.

So he filled the void with music, whether it was that of others or his own. Guthrie the guitar had been a gift from his friends, who had all acted on Albert’s suggestion. When asked about it, Albert joked that Finch needed something better to do with his hands than jack off and that a piano would have been too expensive. That very guitar still accompanies Finch wherever he goes, no matter how many strings or tuning keys he has to replace.

_“A thoughtful gift from Albert ‘I’ll make my own lunch by stealing from other people’s lunches’ DaSilva.”_

Except Albert had just stormed out of the tiny motel room, leaving Finch alone with Guthrie. Unlike him, Albert craved his alone time and often excuse himself to get away from their large group of friends. Normally, Finch would tag along and offer him some silent companionship, but based on his behaviour, that probably wouldn’t be the best idea now.

Finch’s eyes moved to the armchair that Guthrie was placed, upright as if the guitar were sitting there. He remembered Albert joking about one of them sleeping there for the night so the other would have the full expanse of the bed, but Finch had been the one to insist on sharing it like they did when they were younger. Now he wasn’t so sure if Albert had been joking.

He got up from the side of the bed, grabbing his discarded hoodie from the floor and pulling it over his head. His boxers didn’t do much to warm his otherwise bare legs, but he didn’t feel like rooting through his bags for a pair of track pants. His mind was focused on other things anyways.

 Guthrie’s case wasn’t as a gift; rather, he bought it second hand from an antique shop near his Tita’s home. Albert had helped him pick it out. The deciding factor had been the red foam padding on the inside. “Now whenever you open it up, you’ll be reminded of me!” he quipped at the time. Now more than ever, it was true.

Albert had always been the first person he consulted when he wanted to put a cover online. Even though Finch knew he couldn’t read sheet music, Albert had some sort of inner knowing if the song sounded right. The countless nights they’d spent in either of their rooms was like having a personal recording studio and concert hall at the same time; Albert was his producer, test audience, and biggest fan.

_“Not to mention my muse.”_

The thought floated throughout Finch’s mind all the time, but always came to the forefront when he chose to cover a love song. Every singer had someone in mind when it came to these kinds of songs, but Finch had never been to imagine singing to anyone. Anyone but Albert, that is.

He wasn’t sure when his feelings for Albert crossed the line from platonic to romantic. All he knows is that it happened overtime as he began to notice things. Like the way his black glasses contrasted against his pale skin and fiery hair. Or the way his fingers would play with pens, picks, or anything within his reach. Or perhaps the way he would snort when he laughed too hard.

As he took Guthrie out of his case, his mind cleared save for chords and lyrics. His heart and brain were a constant mess, but music gave him the medium to channel his thoughts into something that made sense. The only decision left to make was where he would let the music guide him.

“‘Can’t Help-’ No, too cliché. ‘Lucky-’ Eh, I don’t know. Wait, I think I’ve got it.”

His fingers were deft as they plucked and tuned Guthrie, the melody washing over his brain like the gentle rising of the tide. The key to expressing the storm inside his mind came from last summer when he’d tricked Albert into watching _Waitress_ with him.

\---

“Dude, when you told me we were going out to get pie, I thought you meant Denny’s, not a theater.”

The bright pink and blue marquee was a far cry from the yellow and red sign of their usual diner hangout. From the corner of his eye, he could see Albert subconsciously rubbing his bare arms as more modestly dressed attendees filed into the building. Finch just smiled as he slung his arm over the other’s shoulders. “There _is_ pie here, Al. We can get it at intermission!” As a show of solidarity, Finch rolled up the sleeves of his polo until they were bunched up over his shoulders. “Now let’s get in, I got some good floor seats.”

True to his promise, Finch bought two pies-in-a-jar at intermission. He handed Albert the rhubarb and dug into his own mason jar of apple pie. Granted how he examined the jar, Finch was worried that Albert was too polite to reject it, but once he took his first bite, Albert devoured the whole thing in a few greedy chomps.

“Only takes a taste, right” Finch teased as he set his own jar aside and offered a napkin.

Albert snickered as he took it and wiped off his mouth. “Oh, shut up. If Jenna doesn’t leave her asshole of a husband and hookup with McDreamy, you owe me another jar pie.” They spit in their hands and shook on it, then turned back to face the stage as the lights dimmed in the theatre.

Finch still ended up buying two more jar pies after the curtain call, although he made Albert promise not to make fun of David for acting in Revolutionary War re-enactments.

That didn’t mean that _he_ couldn’t still do it.

\---

_“It only takes a taste when it’s something special._

_It only takes a taste when you know it’s good._

_Sometimes, one bite is more than enough to know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of.”_

            The words resonated with Finch from the moment Albert hugged him after he bought the second round of jar pies. He knows that he was just happy to be getting more food, but Finch found himself craving the feeling of Albert’s arms around his chest, to be pressed against his shoulder and neck. He’d had plenty of tastes of tactile affection when it came to their friendship, so he was now hooked and wanted more.

            It didn’t help that Albert tended to flinch whenever Finch in particular touched him.

            So maybe the words came out a little sadder than Sara Bareilles had intended. Maybe he teared up a bit as he repeated the chorus again and again. Finch reckoned it was healthy that he was at least letting it out and no longer bottling up his feelings.

_“Sometimes one bite…”_

            His singing was interrupted by the door opening and then, a rush of cold air as Albert came back inside. He seemed to have calmed down considerably from earlier, and he sat down on the bed across from the armchair. “Sounding good there, little songbird.”

            Finch felt his face flush at the nickname as he set Guthrie down. “Oh, uh, thanks, dude. I was just… going through some old tunes is all.” He got down to put Guthrie in his case, doing his best to avoid looking up at Albert. “Did you get the air you needed?”

            Albert nodded once they were face to face. “Yeah, I really think your music helped me figure something out- wait, don’t freak out, okay? Just let me explain… Or maybe let me try something? Please? Just, I don’t know, push me or something if you want me to stop, okay?”

            Finch nodded, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. With a few slow strides, Albert stood in front of him and offered his hand, pulling Finch up to meet him. Their height difference wasn’t as pronounced as it was between Romeo and Specs, but Finch still had to look up at Albert to meet his eyes.

_“Breathe, DaSilva. Breathe and relax.”_

            Carefully, Albert brought his hands to Finch’s shoulders and ducked his head down, pressing a light kiss to the side of his face. He could hear the quiet gasp that escaped Finch’s mouth as he pulled away, so Albert braced himself for the worst. However, he didn’t actually expect Finch to grab him by the hoodie and push him backwards. “Shit, holy fucking shit, I’m sorry-”

            “Shut. Up.” Finch’s voice was raspy as he continued to push Albert backwards. It was only once his back hit the mattress and Finch climbed up to straddle his chest that he clued in to what was going on.

            “So, you want a taste of me, songbird?”

            “Oh my fucking God, just shut up,” Finch snarled as he slammed his lips into Albert’s, his hands moving from the hoodie to grab Albert’s hair. The moan that the pulling elicited was probably heard three rooms over, but neither boy could bring themselves to care. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for that, you prick?”

            “Try eight years, Finch!”

            Finch’s face paled as he let go of Albert’s hair. “I… I only realized it last summer… You’ve been pining since we were fifteen?”

            Albert propped himself up and took Finch’s calloused hands into his. “Well, yeah. I mean, when we got you Guthrie, you just had this gorgeous smile and, don’t get mad when I say this, but your hair looked like absolute shit.”

            “Wow, way to be romantic, firecrotch.”

            “You didn’t let me finish! What I was gonna say is that I wanted to fix it, then I realized that I wanted to tell you how beautiful you were, but I didn’t know if you even liked guys back then, so I just kept it to myself.”

            Finch had moved to sit beside him, still keeping their hands together. “So why didn’t you say anything when I came out?”

            “Because Tyler Kimble, Chris Wiggins, and Shane Oman all asked you out less than a week later! How was I supposed to compete with them?”

            Stifling a laugh, Finch brought a hand up to caress Albert’s face. “Well, do you see me hanging out with them anymore? Sure, they were really cute, but I know who my friends are. Wait, strike that, they were **very** cute.”

            Albert rolled his eyes as he leaned forward, touching his forehead to Finch’s. “I guess you settled with a bunch of ugly mutts then, huh?”

            “Yup, and I fell for the ugliest one of all when he was stuffing his face with jar pie at a place that definitely wasn’t Denny’s.”

            “How about I stuff my face with something else right now?”

///

            Later, when Finch came back with some towels, he found Albert trying to pull his head through a familiar green hoodie that was clearly a few sizes too small for him. “You having fun there, Albert?”

            Albert stopped in his attempts and dropped the hoodie to the side. “I thought it’d be cute. You know, wearing each other’s clothes and stuff.” He took one of the offered towels and cleaned himself up. “They do it all the time online.”

            “Since I’m the shorter one, I get to borrow all of your clothes since they’ll be comfy and baggy on me. Unless you’re going for the crop-top look, my stuff won’t fit you.”

            “Okay, fair enough,” Albert admitted as he tossed his towel to the floor. “But what do we tell Crutchie and Mush in the morning? They’ll know something’s up.”

            “I think the hickeys on your neck and your limp will speak for themselves, Al.”

            Even in the dark of the night, the blush colouring Albert’s face was bright enough for Finch to see. “Shut up and spoon me to sleep, songbird.”

            “Of course, gingersnap.”

///

            In the parking lot of a mom and pop shop off the main drag, the four of them were having homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for breakfast when Mush felt it was necessary to make an announcement.

            “Look, I’m happy that you and Finch finally got your shit together, okay? But if I catch you two getting up to anything in _my_ truck? Crutchie and I will personally throw you off the next available bridge. Understood? Good. Now hop in; we’ve got a lot of road to cover on our way to nowhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and suggestions are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Also, you can find me and my tomfoolery at https://patrick-darling.tumblr.com/


End file.
